She started with a basic search first, running the name Shannon Mallory through the search engine. Page after page came up. Links to missing person’s posters, Amber Alert announcements, and news story after news story after news story rolled across the screen. Clicking on the top one, Cyndi gasped as a smiling photo of a much younger Jade filled her vision. Obviously a yearbook photo, Jade—Shannon—appeared happy and content. The next link was to a news story highlighted by what appeared to be a family photograph. Jade with her mother and father and a younger girl, probably her sister, smiling at the camera from in front of a Christmas tree strung with hundreds of lights and glittering tinsel strands. A third link showed the Amber Alert that had been issued the night Shannon disappeared. Another school photo of a happy, well-adjusted high school student.
So, what had gone wrong?
Jade had always let everyone think she had left a bad family situation, but these pictures told a different story. Of course, Cyndi knew from four years of studying psychology that abuse wasn’t always visible, and it rarely left discernible marks. Still, article after article colored a bright, dedicated student with goals and a plan for the future. Nowhere, in any article, did Cyndi see that plan outlined as running away from home and becoming a child prostitute or exotic dancer.
After clicking through several more links, one finally gave her a little clue as to why Jade had run away. It was a police report from the local newspaper in Jade’s hometown. The clip outlined in way too much detail the many methods in which Shannon Mallory had been violated by her stepfather, James Martin.
So the happy family front was just a myth, as she had suspected. According to the article, James Martin had begun abusing Shannon when she was twelve. He currently had several dozen charges pending against him for the abuse Shannon had sustained at his hand.
Further down on the page was another article about the death of James Martin. Apparently he had committed suicide in jail several months after he was convicted. Jade probably didn’t even know the bastard was dead.
But if he went to prison, why did she still feel the need to run away? The bastard was locked up good and tight, even before he took his own life. She would have been safe. Unless there were other factors at play…did her mom blame her for James’s incarceration?
What a mess. No wonder Shannon became Jade. New identity, new life. Forget the past and pretend like none of it ever happened.
And become a prostitute.
Something was seriously wrong in the world if a teenage girl would throw in the towel and flee to the streets, selling her body and fighting for survival.
Cyndi slammed a fist down on the sofa cushion next to her, nearly knocking her laptop to the floor. The whole thing was disgusting.
When the cuckoo clock struck midnight, Cyndi shut down her computer and headed to bed. The rest of the week would be a whirlwind, and she needed to rest her ankle so she could get back to work in a couple of days. Her afternoon tryst with Jason had used up enough of her excess energy so that she thought she might actually sleep through the night for a change.
Maybe she ought to insist on spur of the moment, almost late for duty sex every day…
Chapter Eight
“Maybe you should take the night off, Cyn?”
“I’m fine. I can’t just call in whenever you think I should. People depend on me to do my job.” Exactly what people she referred to, Jason didn’t need to know.
“Come on, Cyndi…I will make it worth your while.” He flashed her his coy grin, the one that said ‘come on, baby’ and ‘I’ll rock your world.’ Generally she found it near impossible to resist that smile, but she remained strong.
“Sorry, Officer. You will have to wait a few hours before holding me prisoner.” She kissed Jason on the cheek and sashayed her way out of the house, swinging her hips in the exaggerated motion the working girls down by the oceanfront used.
“You can bet I’ll be ready with my cuffs!” Jason called after her. Cyndi giggled as the front door closed behind her. She enjoyed the little exchanges with her husband. It was nice to know he still wanted her and found her attractive after so many years together.
The guys at Sugar Shakers hooted, hollered, and whistled when she danced, but none of them meant anything to her. Not like getting one of those long, hot stares from Jason. The thought of it almost made her turn around and go back inside.
She would only be gone for four hours, and then J.J. could make good on his promises. That thought kept her smiling as she jumped in the car and headed to the tourist district. Her ankle wasn’t bothering her at all, despite the rainbow of bruising that still tie-dyed her skin. She was actually anxious to get there.
Twenty minutes later, Cyndi was surprised to find a small line forming outside the club. Friday nights didn’t usually pick up until closer to midnight, when she was leaving. Parking her car, Cyndi strolled across the street. For a split second, she hesitated. With a crowd like that at the front door, employees were expected to use the back entrance. The alley creeped her out even more than it had before, especially since she and Angela had found Jade’s purse.
With a quick glance toward the crowd by the door, Cyndi groaned. She’d have to go through the alley. A rowdy yell carried out as the door to the club opened, and Rafael’s deep Cuban accent barked out, “Shut the hell up or get out!”
She took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in her throat, and headed for the alley. At the edge of the building, Cyndi stopped. The door stood a mere ten feet down the alley, but deep shadows bathed the area. Darkness could be dangerous. Especially when an odd scraping sound came out of said shadows. She glanced again at the crowd by the front door, taking a deep breath and heading toward the alley.
Cyndi squared her shoulders, peering into the dark, trying to determine the origin of the sound. As she stood there, concentrating on the sounds, a large figure suddenly stepped out of the shadows with its arms raised. Cyndi screamed.
“Now hold on there, sugah! Why are you screamin’ at Roxy?” The older woman dropped the heavy piece of…whatever she had been fixing to clobber Cyndi with. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter.
“Roxy!” Cyndi threw her hand over her heart as though she could instantly calm the pounding, or resist the urge to smack Roxy for scaring the crap out of her. “What the hell are you doing out here in the dark?”
“What are you doing out here, sugah?” Roxy fiddled with the yellow boa she wore with her black bustier and ridiculously spiked heels. A stray feather clung to her bouffant hairdo, and glitter sparkled all over her chest.
“There’s a crowd out front, I was trying to avoid it. Your turn. Why are you hanging out in the alley?”
“I wasn’t hangin’ out, I was smokin’ a cigarette before my set.”
Cyndi drew in a deep breath to try and control her anger. The adrenaline rush had already set her hands to shaking, and she was beginning to sweat. “Well, for crying out loud, you should have announced yourself when you heard me coming.”
“You should have announced yourself.”
“But you were the one ready to smack me over the head with…whatever you had in your hand!”
“I stopped as soon as I saw you.” Roxy planted her hands on her hips defiantly.
Cyndi stooped down and retrieved the other woman’s weapon off the ground. It was an old, rusty tire iron. “Does anyone even own these anymore, Roxy?”
Roxy snatched the tire iron out of Cyndi’s hand. “Hey, a lady can’t be too careful these days. Especially with crazy killers running around.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Umm…Jade? Have you already forgotten that sweet girl?”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten her! I just didn’t realize you had more information about her disappearance than I do, or the police, for that matter.”
Roxy suddenly relaxed, lowering her hands from her hips and propping the tire iron against the building. “I don’t have any idea what happened to her, suga
h. I’m just a little jumpy is all. That girl plain disappeared from the face of the earth, and it’s got me on edge.”
“I think we are all a little on edge, but I didn’t jump you with a lethal weapon.”
Roxy waved her hand in the direction of the iron. “That old thing? I found that by the door. I grabbed the first thing I could find when I heard you sneaking up on me. It’s not like I was gonna kill you or anything.”
“I wasn’t sneaking!”
“Well, I sure didn’t know that at the time, now did I?” Roxy rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “It’s getting mighty chilly out here.”
“I suppose you might think so since you’re essentially standing out here in underwear.”
Roxy looked down at the stage costume she wore. “Yup. I guess I am. Suppose I’ll be heading inside now. You coming?”
“Yeah. I’ll be right there. Go on and get a little something on before you freeze.”
Roxy shrugged as she tossed her boa over her shoulder. “Nah. Got to get myself out on the stage in a minute. Dancing will warm me up.” She spun on a stiletto heel and disappeared into the shadows. A moment later, Cyndi heard the door to the club shut.
Slipping her hand in her purse, she felt around for the pocket flashlight Jason made her carry. Jason had equipped her bag with the basic needs for any emergency. She crouched down by the tire iron. Roxy had mentioned that it had been propped behind the door; it was heavy and awkward and could be used to subdue a woman. The tire iron might even leave a little blood behind to stain a purse.
Shining the light directly on it, Cyndi examined the item for anything that might be suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
The flashlight fell to the ground with a clatter as Cyndi nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun around, poised to fight, but she relaxed instantly at the sight of Rafael standing there, looking at her curiously.
“Raf! You scared the crap out of me!”
“How about me, Miss Cyndi? Somebody told me they saw a light back here. I was ready to take a dude out, but then I found you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
The bouncer chuckled. “I have been itching for a good fight.” He threw his fists up in the air and started to bounce around. “You up for a little tussle?”
“Oh, Rafael, you’re too much.” Cyndi bent down and grabbed her flashlight. “I better get inside now. Almost time for my set.”
The young bouncer stood and watched her until she disappeared into the club. As the door was closing, Cyndi happened to turn around and notice the garbage dumpster pushed three feet to the left from where she and Angela had left it.
“What the hell?” she muttered under her breath.
“Something wrong, Cyndi?” Lola’s soft, lilting tones always seemed so out of place in Sugar Shakers. Why the beautiful Hawaiian didn’t go back home to her native islands, Cyndi couldn’t fathom.
“I’m fine, Lola. Tripping over my own feet as usual. I had to come in the back door. Raf had a line halfway down the block.”
“How is your ankle this week?”
“A little bruised up still, but mostly feeling fine. Thanks for asking, Lola.”
“Will you be okay to dance tonight?” The other woman’s face was soft with concern.
“I’m gonna give it a go and see what happens, but I am sure it will be fine. Wouldn’t want to disappoint our patrons, now would I?”
“I suppose not,” Lola responded. The poor girl was way too serious for her age. “Well, you better go get ready. Roxy is out there already doing her “Like a Virgin” number. Kind of ironic, don’t you think? Even Madonna herself would have a good laugh over that one.” Lola’s bottomless chocolate eyes glittered with humor. Cyndi almost thought she saw the beginnings of a smile.
“About as ironic as me dancing to Poison’s “Cherry Pie!”” Cyndi got busy changing into her red bustier while Lola teased her hair in the mirror at the makeup table.
“Aw, I don’t know. The guys out there would believe you were still a virgin. You look so young and innocent.”
“This from the mouth of the babe in the room.”
Lola blushed. “I am not as young, nor nearly as innocent, as I appear. Reason number one I am no longer welcome in my father’s home.”
Cyndi stepped over and gave the girl a tight squeeze around the shoulders. “I am sorry you have not seen your family in so long. Do you really think your father would turn his back on you if you showed up on his doorstep one day?”
“In a heartbeat, Cyndi. If there is one thing my family knows how to do, it’s how to hold a grudge. We win Olympic medals in it.”
Lola looked so sad, even as she tried to sound lighthearted, that Cyndi had to fight back a tear of her own. “Well, if you ever feel like you want to try calling home or something and need moral support, let me know. I’m here for you.”
“Maybe one day I will take you up on that,” Lola replied solemnly. “But right now you must get out on stage. Roxy’s last number has ended.”
Cyndi checked herself in the mirror. She didn’t have time to put on her makeup, but at least her hair looked good. Long and thick and wild…perfect for dancing her “Rag Doll” number. The guys loved Aerosmith, and the rocking beat always pumped her up.
“We can talk more later, if you want to.” Cyndi blew a kiss across the room as she ran out the door. The first few strains of her song were floating through the hall as she ran into Roxy in a flurry of yellow feathers.
“What the hell, Cyndi?” Roxy called after her.
“Sorry, Roxy! I'm late for my number!” Cyndi yelled back over her shoulder.
The bass was thumping and the crowd was yelling as Cyndi stepped out on the dinged up old stage. When she heard people cheer for her, despite the fact that it came from just a bunch of drunk, horny guys, it always gave her a little chill. Cyndi loved performing; she always had, since the day of her first ballet lesson when she was three. The thrill was mostly the reason why she kept her job, more than anything else. It wasn’t an ideal place to do her thing, but it felt good to perform anywhere at all.
As Aerosmith’s music filled the club, Cyndi spun and kicked and shook her tassels as the crowd got rowdier and rowdier. She kept an eye out for voyeurs like the one who had jumped on stage the previous week, but mostly she saw college kids looking for a cheap thrill. When “Rag Doll” ended, the track switched to “You Give Love a Bad Name,” and Cyndi found herself wondering if the young crowd even knew who the fine men of Bon Jovi were. It didn’t seem to matter. They went wild when she spun around the pole, and they nearly lost it when she ended the number in a full split, boob tassels shaking and spinning like crazy.
Heart racing in her chest, and her ankle reminding her of its injury, Cyndi stood up and took a little bow before leaving the stage and heading toward the bar. As cranked up as the crowd was, no one tried anything inappropriate with her. The club had a strict no phones, no cameras policy—one of the things Cyndi appreciated most for keeping her secret life secret—and they were good about tossing people out who got too handsy with the dancers. One of the new girls took the stage, dancing to some song Cyndi didn’t recognize as she reached the bar.
“Hey, Johnny, can I get a big glass of ice water?”
“Sure thing, sweetness! Lady Liberty was rockin’ it out there tonight!”
Cyndi mopped her face with a bar napkin, still amazed at how much of a workout pole-dancing in a club was. “It’s the music, Johnny. I love good eighties hair band rock and roll. Seemed to work for the young crowd tonight too.”
Johnny handed her the glass of water and leaned over the counter. Cyndi caught a glimpse of a black lace bra under his button-down Oxford and fought back the urge to smile as he motioned her in close. Johnny was the world’s biggest enigma. “I got news for you, doll. Those guys are worked up by you, not the music.”
“Oh, please, Johnny! I’m simply an old lady pretending to be sexy a few hours a week because
I get off on the excitement.”
“Old lady, my ass. I’d get with you, if I weren’t afraid of that husband of yours and his really big gun. And by that I mean his firearm…just so you know.” Johnny shot her a grin that made her wonder why some lucky girl hadn’t snatched him up yet.
“How come you’re not already spoken for, Johnny? You got more charm and character than anyone I know.”
“You know any ladies okay with their man borrowing her panties or a hot dress once in a while? Because I sure don’t. Not any normal, single ladies anyway.”
“How about a guy?”
“Now, doll face, Johnny doesn’t swing in that direction.”
“But…well, now I am confused. Aren’t you wearing a bra and panties right now?”
“So?”
“So…why are you wearing them? And dresses…you wear those too.”
“And the Scottish wear their kilts. You ever seen anyone accuse a couple of Highlanders of getting it on with each other?”
“Johnny, I am not accusing you of anything! I really don’t understand.”
“They feel nice against my skin.”
“What?” Cyndi asked, then took a sip of water.
“The satin and lace feel good against my skin. It’s like hours and hours of foreplay.”
“Johnny!” Water shot through her nose as she choked on the cold liquid. “The things you say!”
“I’m serious! What man doesn’t want to be turned on all the time?”
“You are a real pervert!”
Johnny laughed at her as he tossed her a bar cloth to wipe the mess up with. “I look at it as doing my gal a favor. By the time we get home, I am ready and willing to go. Only I have yet to find a gal who understands that.”
Cyndi cleared away the water and returned the towel to Johnny. “What about the dresses?”
Johnny shrugged and grinned his thousand-watt grin again. “Again, Scotsmen wear kilts. I like the feeling of almost being naked at work.”
Undercover in Six Inch Stilettos Page 7
